


Bait

by SLunne



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, Aftermath of Violence, Angst, Body Horror, Bondage, Child Abuse, Double Penetration, Face-Fucking, Good Big Brother Dean, Good Brother Sam, John POV, John's A+ Parenting, Mpreg, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, POV Dean Winchester, Rape, Rape Aftermath, Spitroasting, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-06
Updated: 2016-05-14
Packaged: 2018-02-16 07:32:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 8,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2261211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SLunne/pseuds/SLunne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Prompt: John regularly uses Dean as bait for monsters, but on the latest hunt something goes horribly wrong. He gets knocked unconscious and Dean is raped by the monster they are hunting. When John comes to, the monster is still in the act. He kills it and drags it off (and out of) Dean. John treats the event as though it were a risk of the job, not the trauma it is."</p><p>When John messes up on a hunt, it's Dean who pays the price, filled in every possible way by the monster they were hunting. But the monster did more to Dean than John can possibly imagine, and it may just cost him everything. </p><p>spnkink-meme fill</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There's graphic descriptions of non-con rape told from John's eyes, and a look into how fucked up the eldest Winchester really is. Angst like whoa, but hopefully the ending will satisfy you.

Dean’s eighteen, I reasoned to myself. Well, seventeen really, but with the boy’s birthday happening sometime within the next few weeks he was practically an adult already. Its not like having those few extra days could make any kind of God damn difference, not in the long run.

It isn’t the first time that I’ve used my eldest son as bait. Sometimes its necessary. The thing we’re hunting won’t make an appearance unless its got a victim to go after. And Dean? He’s a hunter, not a civilian. He knows how to defend himself from almost anything. Dean knows the risks, knows what could happen, knows what’s really at stake.

So he didn't complain when I told him I needed him to be the bait for this one. His jaw clenched, and his eyes grew hard. I knew what he was thinking of. Last time I needed him as bait, it’d been a wendigo. I was a little late finding the nest, and he’d nearly been made into diner, but he knew it wasn’t my fault. Dean shouldn’t have let himself get knocked out. He could have prevented himself from being fully caught if he’d just managed to keep consciousness for a few fucking seconds. And he _knew_ it because I’d _told_ him so after the damn thing was dead.

But Dean doesn’t say anything, just nods, follows my orders like he’s supposed to. He doesn’t even speak until I start to tie him up.

“Dad?” he saids as I knotted his wrists together in front of him, tight enough that I knew he couldn't get out without a knife.

“The thing’s smart, Dean. Other hunters have tried using bait, but it didn’t go for anyone that seemed threatening.”

He was quiet after that, watched me carefully as I looped the rope binding his wrists up in a tree, forcing Dean’s hands up in the air so he had to balance on his toes.

“You alright?” I asked. He grunted, tugging at the rope, but the branch was so thick, it didn’t even bend with his weight.

“Yeah, ‘m good,” he said, looking at the ground.

I reached into his pockets, pulling out the gun and knife. He looked like he was about to protest, so I cut him off. “Like I said, it wont come if it thinks you’re a threat. Bobby thinks it’s got a nest around here somewhere, so it’s being careful. This is the only way to get it to come out. But you’ve still got the blade around your calf, right?”

“Yes sir.”

“Then there’s no problem,” I said promptly. “I’m not going to be far away, and I’ll kill it before it even gets near you, but just in case, you’ve got that.”

I headed across the clearing towards the rocks I’d set up for my cover, never turning around to look at Dean. God, if Mary knew what I was doing…

But it didn’t matter, since she was dead.

I waited in the shadows of the rocks, listening hard for signs that the thing was coming. The sun was disappearing behind the tree line. Mary used to love sunsets. She’d grab a blanket from the hall closet and a case of sandwiches, and drag me outside to sit with her, her eyes laughing all the while. We’d sit together on that old blue blanket until there wasn’t a spec of sunlight in the sky. She didn’t stop when she was pregnant, or when the boys were born. She’d done it the night she’d died, swept Sammy up in her arms as she sat on that old beaten blanket, with me sitting next to her, and Dean climbing all over my back and in my lap. But then Sam had started crying, and they’d gone inside before the sun had fully disappeared. Mary never got to see her last sunset.

Something thick and wet coiled around my ankle. I let out a startled yell, swinging my gun around to point it at the monster. But the tentacle was yanking me up, and I felt my head connect to the rock.

The world went black.


	2. Chapter 2

The first thing I noticed was that the sun was completely gone from the sky.

Dean.

_Fuck._

I scrambled to my feet, feeling hot blood sticking my hair to my head. Where the hell was my _gun?_

There was a muffled scream behind me, and I stumbled around the rock towards the source of the noise.

It was Dean. He was still tied up to the tree, but he wasn’t alone. The monster was there. Thick, black tentacles, oozing with clear slim made up the entire body, and it was on top of him.

Was _in_ him.

There was a thick limb stuck down his throat, forcing his mouth open wide as it pumped in an out, a sickening bulge in his throat whenever it moved. Another, smaller one was shoved up inside one of his nostrils. As I watched, it sunk deeper and deeper, until I finally saw it come out the other side. There were tentacles wrapped around his naked torso, red sucker marks covering every inch of skin that wasn’t being touched by the slimy appendages.

They were wrapped around his cock. It looked flaccid, but that didn’t seem to matter. The tentacles were jerking it, up and down the shaft, and the skin looked red and raw, but another tentacle, the same size as the one up his nose, was pushing its way _inside his son’s penis._

But the worst of it was farther back. There was a tentacle…no... _two_ tentacles up Dean’s ass, and each one looked about the size of my whole _arm_. They was thrusting into him rapidly, one pumping in while the other pumped out. Dean’s bowed legs were spread wide, and his feet scrambled at the ground, trying to find some purchase on the ground with the toes of his boots…the only piece of clothing that wasn’t ripped to shreds around him.

I couldn’t move. I had an intense desire to hurl, to turn around and run back to that last sunset in Kansas.

Dean let out a muffled sob, and his eyes met mine, red and desperate, tears leaking down the sides of his face.

I saw my gun lying a few feet away from me on the forest ground.

I lunged for it, not caring if it heard me or not. I straightened up, gun cocked. The thing had stopped sliding over Dean’s body, but the limbs in his cock and ass continued to pump. What must have been it’s head turned towards me. Two red, beady little eyes, and a large, gaping mouth lined with circles of teeth. It screeched at me, the sound loud and high, making me want to slap my hands over my ears.

Instead, I pulled the goddamn trigger.

The iron bullet hit it between the eyes. It wailed, an arm untangling itself from Dean’s chest and coiling out towards me, before it slumped over onto my son’s shaking body.

Dead.

Dean was breathing hard around the tentacle still up his nose, whimpering a little with each heaving exhale. I stumbled forward to him, dropping my gun in the leaves.

“It’s alright, its dead. It’s fucking dead,” I heard myself say. Dean’s arms are shook as I reached for my knife, taking it to the ropes bound around his wrists. When I cut it free, Dean fell to the ground in a heap, the monster still stuck in him.

He let out a cry of pain, and tried to pull himself away, but the thing was buried too deep inside him in too many places.

“Hold on, dammit,” I hissed, falling down on my knees to try and stop Dean from hurting himself. “We gotta take them out first, hold fucking _still!”_

He flinched at the sound of my voice, and shrunk away from me, like he was afraid I was gonna hit him. And I thought that maybe I should. Snap him out of his panic, bring him back to rationality, so he’d fucking follow my orders and _be safe_.

But I don’t do it. Not after I…

_Dammit_ I fucked up.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to revisit this, I'm feeling in the mood for something darker. John's way of thinking is fucked up.

“I gotta get them out, and I need you to be still, do you understand me?” I say in my most authoritative voice. I have to stay calm, because if I can’t, then Dean can’t.

He doesn’t answer beyond a moan, but it’ll have to do.

I start with the one in his penis, I pull on it slowly, dragging it out of his shaft, Dean chokes around the tentacle in his throat, and maybe I should have started there, but this one has to be the most painful. When it’s finally free, there are droplets on blood falling onto the leaves. But I don’t stop, I move to the ones in his ass. These are the most offending, forcing Dean’s body open in a way it shouldn’t be. Oh god, what the hell have I done?

I grab them suddenly, and yank them out quickly. Dean screams. Blood and thick, opaque slick dribble out from his gapping hole, and the over stretched muscles of his rim twitch violently.

I want to apologize for being rough, I want to hush and hold him and tell him that its going to be okay, but the words get caught in my throat, and there are still tentacles inside my son.

I reached for the one up his nose, and Dean’s hand flies up to grab my wrist.

“Dean,” I say in a warning tone. His eyes are wide, but his fingers slacken, and I move forward without resistance. I don’t pull this one out fast, I might rip the tentacle, and it would be stuck up his nasal passages. I tug on it gently, but consistently, feeling it slide out. Dean’s eyes cross ass he stares down at the slimy black thing as it exits his nose, tears forming once again in his eyes as he twitches fighting to hold himself still. When its finally free, blood starts to gush from his nostrils.

I swear, and look around for something to stem the flow with. I pick up a piece of fabric off the ground that I vaguely recognize as being from Dean’s shirt, and shove it up under his nose.

“Hold this while I get the last one,” I order him, and his hand comes up to press the quickly dampening fabric up to his nose, his hands shaking.

I wrap my hand around the one in his mouth. I had hoped that Dean would just spit it out himself, but the fact that it was still lodged in his throat meant that it must be too deep. I start to reel it out of his mouth. Dean is crying again, but I ignore it. The tentacle keeps coming, and coming, and coming. After what must be at least four or five feet, I can feel its almost completely freed.

That’s when Dean throws up.

He’s facing me, so it ends up all over me. Thick chunks of that clearish white spunk, so damn much of if, mixed with bile and enough blood to make me curse up a fucking storm.

Dean falls against the ground, naked and dry heaving, nothing left in his stomach to throw up, but his body keeps trying.

I look down at myself and grimace. God, this was such a fucking nightmare.

Deans arms curl around himself as he lays on his side, his knees drawn up as if to protect himself. I see a flash of my little boy, squirming around in my lap as the sun makes way for the stars.

I want to pick Dean up, and hold him close to my chest. I want to wipe away the blood and tears from his face, and tell him that I won’t let anything like that happen to him ever again. I want to take him back to our house in Kansas, let him lay out on the threadbare blankets with Mary and her laughing eyes.

But I can’t coddle him. I can’t let him be weak. The weak get killed. When I was weak, Mary died. He’s alive, and he’ll be all right, and that’s all I can allow myself to focus on right now.

I let Dean lie there for a moment, tears still streaming down his face as he continues to gag and twitch on the ground. But then I’m standing up.

“Come on, son. Shake it off, shake it off,” I say gruffly, reaching down to wrap my hand around his bicep.

He turns his head up to look at me, his eyes wild. “Wh-what?” he gasps out.

I scowl down at him for the look. “I said shake it off. You’re alive. The thing’s dead, and we gotta get rid of it and get back to Sammy at the motel room.”

Dean’s eyes stare into mine, a look of incredulity and hurt across his face. But then something changes. A light goes off in those green eyes, and for some reason my gut churns.

He looks away from me, and starts to push himself to his feet. I try to help, pulling him up by his arm, but he shrugs me off. He stands there, shivering without any kind of clothing besides his boots. I pull of my jacket, blood stained and bile covered as it is, and hold it out to him.

He doesn’t take it. Just looks at it like he doesn’t know what it is.

“Put it on.”

His face twitches, but he does as I said. He grabs the jacket and pulls it on over his shoulders. Its much to big for him, and makes him look even smaller and younger than he is, but at least it covers his nakedness, even if it stops high up on his thighs.

“Head back to the Impala,” I slip into the familiar feeling of giving orders. Orders are solid, and Dean follows them. Orders give me back the control I’ve lost here tonight. “They’re some towels in the trunk. Clean yourself off and wait on me, I’ll finish this up." 

For a minute, Dean just stares at me, his eyes wide, the muscles in his face and jaw spazzing out. I think I’m going to have to repeat myself when Dean starts to move.

He turns around and starts walking towards the car, his movements jerky and forced. But he’s going…he’s doing what I said. And he won’t have to watch me burn this fucking son of a bitch to ashes for touching my fucking family.


	4. Chapter 4

The ride back to the motel is void of words. Dean sat himself in the back seat, towels laid out underneath him, staring at the floor. I watch him through the rearview mirror, but except for the tremors that continue to run through his body, Dean stays practically catatonic, even when the car comes to a stop in front of the motel.

“Alright, inside and straight to the shower. I’ll take the second one,” I say, trying to knock Dean back into that familiar obedience. “Sam should be in bed already.”

And how much easier the next hour would have been if that’d actually been true.

Sam was on the bed, waiting with his biology textbook open, and jumping to his feet when the door opened. “You were gone almost all night! How are you going to get up in time for sch – _DEAN!”_

Sam’s face lost all it’s color as Dean stumbled through the door just behind me.

“Sam give him some space,” I say sharply. “The hunt was rough, he doesn’t need you crowding him up.”

I winced as I watched Dean fall into the motel chair, still naked and bloody except for my jacket. Dammit I said _shower first._

Sam approached Dean like he thought he might lash out, his eyes wide as Dean’s face remained tightly pinched, his breathing shallow. “Dean?” Sam whispered.

Dean didn’t look at him, kept his eyes closed, and only gave a slight jerk to his head.

“Dean…what happened? Are you okay? I mean…oh god…”

“I said leave him alone!” I yell, making both boys jump. “Sam, give your brother some room to breath, Dean, go clean yourself up.”

Sam whirled around to face me, his eyes on fire. “What the hell did you _do_ to him?!”

“Sam…” I say in warning, but since when has my youngest ever listened to a goddamn thing I’ve said?

“No! What did you fucking _do to him?”_

“Don’t you take that tone with me, boy,” I snarl. “I’m your father, and you’ll show me some respect.”

“I don’t have to do anything! Especially when you don’t deserve it! You take Dean out like he’s cannon fodder! Whenever you come back from a hunt he’s hurt all to hell and you’ve only got a few scratches! You let your own son get hurt and you don’t even _fucking care – ”_

I don’t remember raising my hand. I don’t remember cupping my palm and slapping it against the side of Sam’s head. But a second later, my son’s on the grown, blood pouring out of his ruptured eardrum and my right hand is stinging.

Dean makes a choked noise somewhere out of my line of vision. Sam lays on the floor, his hand touching the side of his face, pulling back the fingers to see the blood, and I stand there, panting, a red haze slipping from my mind.

I’d never hit Sam before.

Suddenly Sam was surging to his feet, his hands shoving at my chest, pushing me back with his short stature and small hands. Even though he’s leagues smaller than me, I’m caught enough off guard to stumble back a few steps.

“You _bastard!_ You _fucking bastard!”_

I grab his wrists, twisting them away from my body and pushing him back onto the bed. Its not hard to overpower him, but the more persistent he is, the more I can feel my anger building. Sam’s still screaming at me, he keeps jumping up into my face. I feel myself screaming back, but I’m so frustrated I can’t think straight. My hand grabs the front of Sam’s shirt. Damn it why can’t either one of my sons just fucking _listen to me!_

“SAM.”

Dean’s strangled yell is enough to startle me out of action. Dean’s standing again, his eyes wide and desperate, his hands pulling at my arm, jacket abandoned and crumpled on the floor. Sam’s feet are dangling off the ground, suspended from the collar of his shirt that I’m holding in my left hand. I realize that my other hand the one Dean’s pulling at, is drawn back into a fist.

I drop Sam to the floor where he crumples, blood pouring from his ear and his nose. Dean’s got the beginnings of a black eye that for the life of me I can’t remember if he had from the hunt or if I…

Did I…?

I push Dean away from me.

“If you won’t take the first fucking shower than _I_ _will_ ,” I bite out over my shoulder as I retreat into the bathroom, slamming the door behind me. I turn the shower on to full heat, scalding my skin as I close my eyes and breathe, pressing my head against the cold, broken tiles of the wall. I don’t open them as I rub at the aching skin over my right knuckles. I don’t want to see if the water’s turning pink or not.

* * *

 

**_follow me on[tumblr](http://maaahksheppard.tumblr.com)_ **


	5. Chapter 5

I don’t spend the night in the motel room. There’s a bar down the road from the front door, and it’s the best place to forget that this night ever happened.

Sam was under the covers when I left, Dean sitting on the edge of the bed, eyes staring at the floor, still covered in mud and guts and blood – only the edge of the comforter covering his lap.

I think I told Dean where I’d be. But honestly I moved so fast outta that room that I don’t remember.

The bar was loud and rowdy with drifters, screaming and hollering in drunken stupors. But the noise wasn’t enough to stop Mary’s voice ringing in my ears, a long drawn out scream that never passed her lips, a whispering caress of _I love you John…_

The booze weren’t enough to blind me from seeing her eyes, reflected in my eldest son, wide and hurt and betrayed and _I can’t fucking believe how much I’ve failed you I’m so sorry please forgive me please forgive me please please please…_

The pain in my neck from waking up slumped over in the alleyway behind the bar is worth the time I can spend composing myself before I return to the room.

They’re sitting on the bed they’re sharing, paused in the middle of saying something they didn’t want me to hear. I tell them we’re leaving in thirty minuets.

Dean doesn’t say anything. His legs shake as he moves to pack his stuff. Sam trails after him, doing an impression of a lost puppy and mother hen at the same time. He ignores me completely, and that suits me just fine.

I know the silent treatment won’t last long enough. 

* * *

 

It lasts two days.

“ _NO_ ,” Sam roars at me, his face red and angrier than a hornet’s nest. “You can’t _do this_! I won’t let you!”

“You don’t _let me_ do anything!” I snarl back. “It’s a Vetala, this isn’t a one man hunt, I _need_ someone to distract it. You’ll be fine to stay four days in the room alone.”

Sam looks at me like he can’t believe what I’m saying. It’s times like this that I just want to smack some god damn _sense_ into his fucking head! “Dean was attacked two days ago! He’s been puking his guts out ever since! You can’t take him out on a hunt again so soon! What happens if he gets sick? What happens if he gets hurt again? What happens when you _fuck up –”_

“Don’t you DARE talk to me like that!”

“It’s the truth! YOU fucked up and DEAN got hurt!”

“SAM,” suddenly Dean’s in the middle, like he always is whenever Sam and I butt heads, his eyes bloodshot and his body sweaty and sickly pale. We both stop to look at him, and it’s the first time I’ve heard him speak since the last hunt. “Just…just _stop_. Just fucking _stop it_ ,” he hisses his voice cracking like he hadn’t had something to drink in days. He turns to look at me, then back to Sam. “ _Both_ of you!”

“ _Fine,”_ my voice’s has gone low. I’m so fucking _tired_ of this shit. “Sam, since you’re so _determined_ that Dean stays here, you’re just going to have to skip school. We’ll leave the room at sundown in three nights, so start sharpening your silver.”

Some of the color leaves Sam’s face, but its nowhere near how white Dean goes.

“No,” Dean chokes on his own throat, stepping back, in front of Sam, like he’s got to protect _Sam from me_. “I’ll go. I’m fine.”

Sam opens his mouth like he’s going to argue, but Dean silences him with a sharp look.

I feel the scowl on my face, but its what I wanted anyway, and I’m too damn tired to keep this argument going on any longer than necessary. “Good. I’m narrowing down its hunting grounds, you make sure we got what we need.”

“Yes, sir.”

Over the next few days, the only words that come from Dean’s mouth are _“yes, sir.”_ I’m woken up each morning to the sounds of whispering in the next bed. I know my boys are talking secrets, but it stops the moment I start to stir. Dean looks like shit, but the hunt will push him to getting over what that monster did to him. It’s all psychological. He just needs to kill something, feel strong and empowered with his own two hands, be reminded that a Winchester isn’t so easily beaten.

Besides, he’s a man now, he’s nearly eighteen years old…

The day we’re supposed to leave from the hunt, I wake to a silent room. My stomach plummets. Sam and Dean are gone, their duffle’s are missing.

I drive up and down the roads for hours, stopping at rest stops and restaurants asking if anyone had seen them. But the only picture I have is from when Dean was eight and Sam was four, and someone with a Polaroid snapped a picture of a birthday in a diner…

I call Pastor Jim, he tells me that he can’t help me. I call Bobby, he screams at me, tells me he wouldn’t tell me where the boys where even if he knew, calling me _goddamn stupid son-of-a-bitch do you have any idea what that monster did to hi-_ and I hang up before he can lecture me any more.

At a loss of what to do, I go back to the motel room, polaroid still in hand.

Then comes the realization that today is January 24th. It’s Dean’s eighteenth birthday.

It would be years before I ever saw my boys again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise the mpreg and body horror is coming, also the Vetala is the vampire-like monster that Sam and Dean hunt in season 7, and as Dean finds out in cannon, they hunt in pairs. John is unaware of that at this point, then again he's unaware of a lot of things.


	6. Chapter 6

_(Dean’s POV)_

The shower ran cold that night.

Dad had been in there so long that all the hot water was gone. I had enough time to check on Sammy’s nose and ear, and hide him under the blanket before Dad came out. Maybe it sounds like a weak defense, but it had always worked. Dad would focus on me if Sam were out of sight, if Sam wasn’t in his face. Whether Dad was angry or drunk, or a combination of the two, as long as Sam was in the blankets or hidden behind the shower curtain or in the bottom of the closet, he’d keep his focus on me.

That arrangement was fine with me at the time. I could deal with Dad during his bad moments. I’d been learning how to do it all my life. And it was my job to protect Sammy. It still is. It’s always been by job, ever since I carried him out of the fire. I’ll protect him from anything. Bullies, bad men, monsters, and even Dad when its necessary.

That night, the shower was cold. Dad had hit Sam. Broken his nose and ruptured his eardrum. Left without checking to make sure he hadn’t caused too much damage.

Dad had never hit Sam.

A part of me really believed that he wouldn’t. After all, Sam had to be protected. The monster with yellow eyes had been in Sammy’s room the night that Mom died. I knew. I remembered.

Sam cried. More from shock than from pain, I know. He tried to look me over, but I just kept on shaking my head, begging him with my eyes and my insistent pushing of him towards the bed that he just lay down until Dad was gone or asleep.

He finally did as I asked when the sound of the shower cut off. Dad came out, said he was leaving. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t trust my throat. Didn’t trust my words.

Sam stayed mercifully still until the front door closed, but I pushed him back down to the bed insisting with a very dry sounding “sleep,” that he go on to bed.

I left him to go towards the shower, sliding slightly on the steamed tile of the bathroom floor. The moist air was warm, but the water was cold.

At the time, I told myself it was my fault. Dad had told me to get the first shower, and I hadn’t listened. But the words felt empty even then.

I grit my teeth and scrubbed the mud, blood, and slime off me. I wanted it off. All of it. But I could feel it inside me, in areas that I couldn’t reach. I stood in the shower until I lost the feeling in my feet, until my fingers were blue and my body rubbed red and raw. 

The cold settled into my bones, so deep that the water actually started to feel hot. I made myself step out, worried that Sam wouldn’t go to sleep until he saw me. I could actually feel my relief easing all of my tense muscles when I saw that Sammy’s breathing was even. I pulled on clothes, not caring that they clung to my wet body, and I tried not to think about the ruined shirt that had been left behind in the forest. The one that Sam bought for me for my birthday a year ago. 

I didn’t want to wake him up. But looking at the other bed, I couldn’t bring myself to sleep in Dad’s bed. So I sat back in the chair, ignoring the chills racing up and down my body.

I sat there until Sam woke up the next day. And something changed that night for me. It occurred to me for the first time that Dad might actually be the biggest immediate danger to Sam. My mind kept thinking back to the moment when Dad lost it, when he hit Sam, and then just kept going. I wondered what would have happened if Sam had been out there with us. If he would have been hurt by that disgusting thing.

That night was the beginning of the end of life as Sam and I knew it. For the first time, I had no defense in my mind or heart for Dad’s actions. Nothing could excuse what he’d done.

That night was the beginning of what Sam now calls my “sick time.” It was the beginning of vomiting almost every hour. Of sleepless nights and sharp, writhing pains in my abdomen. Of the time when I gained weight in my stomach while the rest of my body and muscles began to wither away. The time of fear and confusion that ended with a jagged scar running up my navel to the bottom of my ribcage.

That night, the night when dad left me to the mercy of a monster, when he proved himself as dangerous to Sam as the scum we hunted, the shower ran cold.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter begins the depictions of body horror and mpreg, be aware!

_(Dean’s POV)_

The day I turned 18 was the day I took Sam and hightailed it away from Dad, all the way to California. I wanted to wait a bit longer. I couldn’t keep my hands steady, and shaking hands meant that I wasn’t able to hold a gun without risk of hurting Sammy, and it meant that I couldn’t defend the both of us. But when Dad was insisting on going out to hunt the Vetala, when he was just as willing to use Sam as he was me, I knew we had to get out of there as soon as possible.

I told Sam to keep his bag packed, to keep as quiet as possible until we left. I didn’t want Dad to get wise to what I was planning, and I sure as hell didn’t want him getting angry again before we had time to hit the road.

The few days gave me enough time to get some necessary cash. Looking as pale as Sam says I did after the thing in the forest, it was easy to get sympathy from the little old women working behind the counters of Mom and Pop stores in town. They never even noticed me reaching into the cash register and stealing a few bills as they rushed to give me some homemade tea remedy or another that would “put me right back to sorts.”

The only times I could give Sam in instructions was when Dad was asleep or out of the room. I knew he must have caught us whispering, but he never said anything, and I found myself actually grateful that he was so uninterested. Sam was glad to be leaving. Of course he was, Sam didn’t have any love for Dad, especially after that night. But Sam wanted to head to Bobby’s or Pastor Jim’s.

We argued about it for the longest time, but in the end I won out. We couldn’t go to them on the off chance that they’d tell Dad where we were. Not that they’d ever do anything to endanger us on purpose, but adults seemed to always think that other adults knew best. Well I was an adult, come January twenty fourth, and _I knew_ what was best for me and Sam, and any place with the very mention of _John_ _Winchester_ was not it.

Still, Sammy was worried as hell about me, and I can’t honestly blame him. I was pretty bad off, even just a few days after the monster got ahold of me. The shakes were expected, a hunt gone wrong will do that to anyone. It was the other symptoms that were putting me on edge.

I couldn’t keep down much food. I was thirsty all the time, and downed water like a man left out in the desert. But all that water never left my body the way it was supposed to. It all seemed to sweat out through my skin, seeping into my clothes and the bed sheets. It was a cold sweat, Sam said I felt like ice to the touch. I was vomiting too. At first only once a day, but it was still worrying, especially when there wasn’t enough food to come back up.

On January twenty third, John fell asleep around eleven. His breathing was rumbling, but even. I waited a couple of hours, counting minutes for the differences in his breathing, waiting until he was so deeply asleep that the sound of an opening door wouldn’t wake him.

At one in the morning, January twenty fourth, I led my little brother out of the motel room as silently as possible. It was a ten minute walk to the bus station, I had our tickets in my jeans pocket. We had to wait what felt like hours for the next bus to arrive, and the driver gave us a raised brow when I hustled Sam onto the bus, towards the middle, avoiding eye contact.

Sam’s hand never let go of mine. The shakes were so bad I couldn’t tell if they were coming from him or me. Two towns later, we hopped off the bus, with the moonlight still piercing down, making me feel like we were under a spotlight. From there, I hot-wired a car, making sure Sam kept his head down. Sam got into the passenger seat, and I wasted no time getting on the highway, headed for the pacific coast.

Sam fell asleep in minutes, and I kept the car quiet, knowing that he hadn’t slept the past few nights out of nerves. We crossed the first state line before my vision started to go hazy.

The car swerved towards the median, nearly clipping the guard rail before I regained control. Sam shouted as I jerked us back onto the road, crossing over into the second lane. I took my foot completely off the gas, afraid of sending us into a flip by slamming on the brakes. I fought to keep the car steady, or at least on the road, but everything was spinning so fast I couldn’t tell what direction we were headed.

“Sam grab the wheel!” I managed, and I felt his smaller hands grip the wheel underneath mine.

The car slowly lost momentum, Sam pulling the wheel slightly to land us on the side of the road when the car eventually came to a complete stop. We were both breathing hard. The car was no longer moving, but my head was still spinning. I tried gripping my head with my hands, but it didn’t help. Finally I opened my door and fell out onto the asphalt, water and bile heaving from my nearly empty stomach.

I heard running footsteps, and Sam was kneeling in front of me, his voice panicked. I tried to push him back, afraid I was gonna hurl on him again, but he shifted to my side, gripping me around the shoulders, keeping me from falling from my knees to my face.

Eventually the dizziness stopped, though I was still shaking all over.

“’M sorry, Sam,” I breathed. “Got weird outta nowhere.”

“S’okay,” he said, and I could hear how shaken up the kid was with just that. “Do you think you could handle some water? You’re completely drenched, Dean.”

My stomach rolled at the idea of putting anything in it, even water. “Nah, maybe in a little bit.” I pushed myself back a little, so I was leaning against the open car, looking up at the sky that held the first few orange traces of morning. “You’re gonna have to drive, Sammy. I don’t think I should get behind the wheel again.”

Sam only nodded. We sat there for a few more minutes, but I was painfully aware of how close we still were to John. Soon he’d be awake, and he’d be looking for us both. I pushed myself up at the thought, letting Sam duck under my arm to keep me upright. I put myself gingerly in the passenger seat and closed my eyes as Sammy started the car back up.

The dizzy spells hit four more times before we got all the way to California, and I had to get Sam to pull over more and more often for me to heave on the side of the road.

Eventually, I started making Sam stay in the driver’s seat, spitting up the bile as fast as I could manage before getting back in the car. The last time I got back in, Sam had tears in his eyes.

“Dean, what if you’re dying?”

“I _ain’t_ ,” I said harshly, ignoring the way my stomach dipped. “Come on Sammy, don’t say shit like that. We’re almost to those sunny beaches and bikini babes. Lets get all the way to Cali, huh?”

Sam swallowed, but got back on the road, leaving a heavy silence between us.

But damn if the kid hadn’t been right. Of course he had to go behind by back, but if it weren’t for Sam, I would have died before the end of the week. I’d always taken care of Sam, and I’ll keep doing it until we’re both dead. But in the months after we left John, for the first time in our lives, Sam was taking care of me too.


	8. Chapter 8

_(Dean’s POV)_

For some reason, I’d had it in my head that getting to California would fix everything. Looking back on it, I’d been so focused on getting _away_ that I hadn’t given much thought as what to do next.

I’d thought it’d be easy. I’d get a job somewhere, serving in a bar or helping at a mechanic shop, Sammy would focus on his school, spend the rest of his high school years with the same kids. We’d just fade into the daily life, not drawing attention to ourselves. Everything would’a been fine.

But I guess I just never realized how sick I really was. 

We drove all the way to the center of California, some small town nowhere near to a beach, before Sam insisted on stopping for a room. I managed to get out of the car and pay for the room, but by the time we’d gotten in our things and warded the room, I could hardly stand.

I sat myself down hard on the bed, and didn’t get back up.

Sam ran himself down with worry for two days, begging me to eat every time he saw my eyes open. He thought I was sleeping, but in truth I hadn’t really slept since the night in the forest. It was impossible, especially when the cramps started hitting my lower stomach.

There was this sharp, twisting pain that made me bite my lip. It felt like stones writhing around in my gut. The first time it happened, I let myself hope that it’d be a one time thing. But like the vomiting, which was still happening so often there didn’t seem any point to Sam’s efforts to make me at least drink something, it became a near constant problem.

At the beginning of the third day, I finally realized that whatever was happening to me was going to kill me. I was going to die, leaving Sammy alone and to the mercy of whatever, or whoever came by first.

I eventually quit responding to Sam’s pleas. I could barely hear him anyway, and I didn’t have the energy to keep answering. Sam finally stopped. He left the room for a short while, and I heard him screaming in frustration outside. When he came back into the room ten minutes later, his face was streaked with tears, and his knuckles were bloody and raw.

I tried to sit up, but just the weight of Sam’s hand was enough to lay me back down. He grabbed the ice cooler and started the water in the motel sink, and I heard him do the same in the shower. He came back with soaking wet towels, steam rising from them. He lay the first towel across my upper body, right over the same shirt I’d been wearing since we left.

It was so damn _hot_.

I remember letting out a whimper, and feeling pathetic as I tried to push it off, but my best efforts weren’t nearly enough. Sam’s voice was a broken mantra of _“I’m sorry”_ and “ _I know”_ and _“I have to do this, I have to keep you alive please hold on.”_

Sam took the remaining towels and rotated them, keeping the searing heat wrapped constantly around me. The writhing pain in my stomach got worse, so much _worse_.

Sam dripped hot water over my face and my neck. I wanted him to stop. I wanted him to just leave me alone.

I don’t really know how long it went on for. I remember Sam swearing when the hot water ran out. Instead, he put all the blankets in the motel room on top of me, surrounding me with a wet, searing heat. The pain in my abdomen kicked up another notch, and I lost it. I started writhing on the bed, a newfound strength driving my limbs to _push get away get off me its too hot its too hot!_

Sam was on top of me, pinning me down, adding more heat to the fire that was burning me alive. He straddled my legs, his hands hot as coal against my shoulders, and he laid his head against my stomach. I remember hearing him crying.

The next thing I knew there was a door bursting open, Sam calling out in relief.

“Thank god you boys called me,” a familiar voice shook me from my panic. “It’s alright, Sam. You can ease off of ‘im. Dean’ll be just fine. I just gotta get a look to see how many there are.”

I felt my chest heaving as a face came into sight. Bobby stood over me, his face grim as he pulled back the blankets smothering me. I nearly moaned as the feeling of cool air reached me, and I watched as Bobby started to cut open my shirt with a pocket knife.

My belly was grossly distended from my body. Four, five, _six_ lumps, at least, all looking like they might burst open at any moment. And then a cramp hit, and I watched in horror as the lump closest to my ribs _moved_.

I screamed. There was swearing and retching, and I crashed into unconsciousness.


	9. Chapter 9

The world came back to me in dots.

I blinked hard, trying to push away the black holes obstructing my vision. I attempted to rub my eyes, but my arms were trapped by my sides by something unbearably hot.

I panicked. I tried to sit up, I could almost feel the clammy, slime covered arm wrapping around my torso again. It was going to strangle me, push down my throat and choke me, push into me –

“Easy there.” Hands. Dry, cracked and so warm, pressed against my face. “It’s alright son, you’re safe.”

“Bobby?” I hardly recognized the sound of my own voice, it sounded so small.

The worn out baseball cap and grizzly looking beard came into focus. I felt my heartbeat calming. “That’s right, it’s just me. You’re okay, kid.”

I didn’t feel okay. I felt like I was melting. I tried to remember what happened before I passed out. There was heat and Sam, then Bobby. Cold relief on my skin, before seeing –

Oh god.

My stomach churned violently, and I rolled to my side as best as I could. All that came up was stomach acid, burning my throat and my lips. Miraculously, there was a plastic trash can being held underneath my chin, and a hand on my back.

“Let it out Dean, don’t fight it. That’s good, we’ll get you some water real quick.”

I groaned at the mention of water, falling to my back again. “No,” I tried to say, but it didn’t come out right. Bobby shook his head anyway.

“Trust me, you need it. Come on now, open up.”

He held a bottle to my lips and tipped it back. I tried to turn away but his hand came up to hold my chin. I tried to push him off, but I only managed to spill the warm water over my face. I sputtered, a cough tearing through my body and leaving me aching before I gave in, and let the water fill my mouth.

Swallowing felt like the hardest thing I’d ever done. And once I’d achieved one mouthful, Bobby was tipping the bottle again. I tried to take as much in as I could, I knew Bobby was trying to help. But once there was water in my stomach, I could feel the heat burning me from _inside_. Like I’d swallowed fire.

Finally I grunted, twisting my head firmly away, and the water spilled down my face and soaked into the blankets around my head and neck.

“Alright, you win,” Bobby huffed, thankfully pulling the bottle away. “But you need to start drinking more. Hell, I know you don’t feel like it, but you’re gonna get sucked dry if you don’t.”

“T-too hot,” I managed, pushing at the blankets again.

“No no no, kid, those stay on,” Bobby said, tugging the blankets up tight. “You need to keep warm. It agitated the suckers at first, but it’ll slow down their growth rate until we can manage them easier.”

I felt a jolt travel all the way down to my toes, fear clinging to my throat.

I was going to die. Sam was going to be left on his own, I wouldn't be there to protect him. I was going to  _die_.

“Bobby… Bobby please, you gotta take care of Sammy. Don’t let John near him. He’s killed me, and he’ll get Sam killed too, _please – ”_

“You ain’t dead yet,” Bobby growled. “Me and Sam are gonna get you through this. And if I ever so much as _see_ John Winchester again, I’ll kill him myself.

I shook my head, fighting the tears welling up in my eyes. I couldn’t get anything else out.

“Listen to me, Dean. The things inside you are called scyllus. They normally live in cold, damp caves or at the very bottoms of lakes. But when they breed, they venture out to find a host for the eggs. That’s what the one that got ahold of you was doing.”

My head was spinning. I knew what the damn thing had been called, but Dad hadn’t said anything about the rest. Why didn’t he tell me? Did he even know? Or did he go into a hunt blind? I couldn’t decide which would be worse.

“You’re vomiting because the acid in your stomach would damage them,” Bobby continued. “Part of the slick it coated you in was to force your body to make some changes, to best suit the eggs. Its lowered your temperature, and it’s probably been keeping you awake.”

I swallowed thickly, ignoring the cottony feeling, how my mouth felt so dry. “Why is it doing that? This’s the first time I’ve been asleep since that night.”

“A host that’s awake is a host that can defend itself,” Bobby said grimly. “Short of knockin’ you unconscious, you’re not gonna be able to fall asleep for a while.”

Just the thought sent exhaustion sweeping through me. “Your bed side manor is terrible. Why are you telling me all this?”

“I’m tellin’ you so you know what to expect," Bobby said, rubbing one hand tiredly against his forehead. "We gotta keep you warm and hydrated, so as soon as the water warms up again, Sam’s gonna help me get you into the tub.”

I felt my body shrink into itself at the very thought. More heat? I already felt like I was boiling up. “How do we get them out?” I said, my voice sounding desperate even to my own ears.

The frown on Bobby’s face wasn’t reassuring. “I made a call. A guy I know is headed here as fast as he can. He’s a former MD, and he’s dealt with this before. He’ll take a look and be able to tell us what to do.”

I was about to respond when the door opened, and Sam walked into the room, carrying two large styrofoam containers. “Dean!” he said, nervously looking back and forth between Bobby and me.

I shifted my focus to Sam, shoving away the questions and fear still pricking my head. “So, you called Bobby, huh?”

Sam’s cheeks turned slightly pink. “I know you said we shouldn’t, but I had to. You were hardly even responding to me, and – ”

“Woah, hey! It’s okay,” I cut him off quickly, and I did my best to give him a smile. “You did good, kiddo.”

Sam looked close to crying again, but thankfully Bobby cut in, clearing his throat and beckoning Sam closer. “Did you get what I asked for?”

“Yeah,” Sam said, hastily walking over to the bed. “Hot wonton soup from the Chinese place down the street.”

Sam climbed up onto the bed, carefully sitting himself crossed-legged next to my head. “This is for you,” he said as he peeled back the lid of the first container. “You need to eat something. But be careful, its real hot.”

“Thanks _mom_ ,” I said as sarcastically as I could, even offering a teasing smirk.

“Shut up _jerk_ ,” he huffed, but I could see a spark of relief in his eyes.

Trying my best not to grimace, I stamped down my pride as Sam started to spoon feed me the soup, the burning liquid scorching my raw throat.


End file.
